


The Raven

by TessAlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Animal Attack, Blood and Injury, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PBExchangeReunion, Viking Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29334603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessAlyn/pseuds/TessAlyn
Summary: As a young boy, Dean finds an injured raven and nurses it back to health. Years later, he discovers it wasn’t a raven at all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	The Raven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaraMoonbrook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraMoonbrook/gifts).



> My contribution to the 7th Profound Bond Gift Exchange! I hope you like the story Amber :)

Dean is in the woods near his village, gathering sticks and branches for the evening fire, when he hears a raspy croak somewhere near his feet. He stops and takes a careful step backwards, scanning the ground. It’s hard to tell in the fading light, but Dean thinks he sees a dark shape huddled at the base of the giant oak tree, the one he always climbs to get away when his little brother won’t stop pestering him. He drops his bundle of sticks, but keeps one in his hand just in case.

He walks slowly towards the tree, watching the shape. When he gets closer, he sees that it’s a bird. Its wings are flapping, but it isn’t flying away.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you hurt?” 

The bird squawks and skitters about on a patch of dry leaves. Dean comes closer and sees the shine of black glossy feathers. It’s not just any bird. It’s a raven, and there’s a loop of leather twisted around its wings.

“You got caught in Papa’s snare,” he exclaims. “That was supposed to catch rabbits.” 

He thinks for a moment. Ravens are very special birds. Uncle Robert says that they carry messages to Odin, and harming a raven brings very bad luck. Dean doesn’t want his family to have bad luck. He should probably make sure this raven is all right.

Dean kneels down beside the bird. It croaks again and cocks its head, studying him with one beady black eye. “I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

He sets the stick down and slowly extends his hand. The raven lets out a nervous squawk, but it doesn’t move. When Dean starts petting the smooth dark head with one finger, it starts making a trilling sort of noise that sounds almost like a cat’s purr. Dean grins, delighted.

“You’re nice,” he says. “Your feathers are so soft.”

The raven seems to preen under the attention. It keeps trilling and ruffling its feathers. Dean pets it for a while, then reluctantly removes his hand.

“I’m gonna try to get you free,” he tells the bird. “It might hurt, but don’t bite me, okay?”

The raven trills again and allows Dean to examine it. The string of leather is wrapped twice around the wings, and it takes Dean several minutes to work it free. The raven flinches and hisses a few times, but it doesn’t bite. Finally, Dean untangles the last knot and sits back on his heels. 

“All done,” he says. “You can go now.”

The raven stands up, a little unsteady on its feet. It starts to spread its wings, but then crumples back to the ground, hissing in pain.

“Can’t you fly?” Dean asks, concerned. 

The raven stares up at him. Dean frowns, thinking hard. “Maybe I could take you home with me,” he says. “You could live in the barn until you get better.”

The raven seems to like this idea, because it hops closer to Dean and chirps.

“Will you let me pick you up?” he asks. The raven chirps again and hops closer still. “I’ll be really gentle. Don’t get scared, okay?”

Very carefully, he slides one hand under the raven’s breast and the other under its tail, scoops it up, and cradles it to his chest. It’s heavier than he expected. 

The raven trills its approval and settles down in his arms almost immediately. Dean looks over at the pile of sticks. He can’t carry them _and_ the raven all the way home. He bites his lip, not sure what to do. Finally he decides that the raven is more important right now. He can always come back and get the sticks later.

Decision made, he sets off for home, unable to keep from smiling down at the bird snuggled against his chest. 

* * *

**_Ten years later_ **

Castiel feels the scream before he hears it. A red hot burning sensation spreads along his limbs, darkening his vision, and he gasps as he recognizes the source. _Dean._ Dean is nearby, and he’s in terrible pain.

Castiel steps out of his nest. A brief moment of concentration, and he’s shifted into his true form. He spreads his wings and flies off into the woods, scanning the ground with his sharp raven’s eyes. It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for. 

A large patch of snow is stained red, and in the center is a crumpled human figure. Castiel spots a huge moose lumbering off into the woods, blood on its antlers, and everything becomes instantly clear. Fear lurches within him. Moose are highly dangerous creatures, short-tempered and vicious; a pack of wolves can occasionally bring one down, but they are often unsuccessful. Dean may already be dead.

He glides down and lands on the red-stained snow. A flick of his feathers and he’s back in human form, staring down at the boy who rescued him all those years ago. Only he’s not a boy anymore. Dean has grown into a young man, one of the most beautiful Castiel has ever seen.

Dean’s eyes are closed, his face deathly pale, and Castiel kneels beside him, fear threatening to engulf him again. He cannot lose Dean. If he dies, their bond will be severed, and Castiel doesn’t know if he can survive such a loss. If he hadn’t been banished, things might be different, but for now, he’s alone.

He reaches out with his hands, feeling Dean’s energy humming through the air. His life force is draining fast. Blood is flowing steadily from the wound on his thigh, turning the snow darker with each passing moment. Castiel takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have much magic left, but he should be able to slow the bleeding at least. He closes his eyes and concentrates, drawing strength from the water and plants and animals around him, fingertips growing hot as the energy builds.

Once he’s certain he has enough power, Castiel opens his eyes and directs a crackle of bright blue flames into Dean’s leg. The muscles twitch and jump, flesh knitting back together as if by needle and thread. The blood slows, then stops. Castiel continues, moving his hand slowly over the rest of Dean’s body, searching for any internal injuries. He reinflates a punctured lung, closes up a gash in the intestines, and pops a dislocated shoulder back into place. There’s so much more he needs to fix— cracked ribs, massive bruises, lacerations everywhere— but by now he’s shaking and sweating from the effort of maintaining the energy flow. This will have to be enough.

He breaks the connection with a harsh gasp. Magic is far more difficult without help from his brothers and sisters. Castiel can already feel exhaustion creeping in, but he can’t leave Dean alone, and he doesn’t have the strength to carry him all the way back to the human’s village.

There’s only one option. He’ll have to bring Dean to his nest.

* * *

Dean feels like he’s at the bottom of a deep, dark lake. His limbs are heavy, it’s hard to breathe, and his entire body is one big bruise. He tries opening his eyes, but everything is spinning, so he shuts them again. Is this what dying feels like? Floating in a dark, dizzy void until your soul leaves your body?

There’s something cold and soft pressing against his forehead. It feels nice. He leans into it and whines when it moves away. He tries to speak, but his tongue is thick and swollen and all that comes out is a hoarse grunt. A deep voice rumbles and a strong hand cups the back of his neck, supporting him as he sips water from a wooden bowl. He keeps his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see who or what is taking care of him. It could be a witch, a forest sprite, a demon. Looking into an evil being’s eyes gives them power over your soul, and Dean of Winchester likes his soul the way it is, thank you very much.

He fades in and out of consciousness, but every time he wakes the deep voice and gentle hands are there, helping him drink, wiping his forehead. The urge to see the face of his rescuer grows stronger. Despite having no idea what it looks like, Dean feels oddly reassured by its presence. A sense of warmth and safety radiates through him whenever it draws near, and for reasons he can’t explain, Dean trusts the feeling.

He opens his eyes.

* * *

Castiel has seen many beautiful things in this world, but nothing compares to Dean’s bright green eyes. His heart starts fluttering madly and he feels warm all over as the human— _his_ human— stares at him.

“Where am I?” Dean asks, voice slurred.

Castiel finds his voice. “In my home. I was nearby when the moose attacked you. I heard you scream.”

Dean attempts to sit up, but falls back with a grimace. “Hurts,” he croaks.

“Where?” Castiel shifts closer.

“Everywhere.” Dean’s eyes are glazing over, a sign that he’s drifting back into unconsciousness. “Am I going to die?”

“No,” Castiel says firmly, putting his hand on Dean’s forehead. It’s burning hot. “I will not allow it.”

Castiel might have depleted his supply of magic, but there are other ways of healing. He goes through his store of roots and herbs, selecting those that fight off fever and infection. He grinds some of them into a paste and applies it to Dean’s wounds, trying not to stare at the beautiful lines and curves of his body, at the thousands of freckles painting his skin. He boils other herbs into strong tea and makes Dean drink it, though the human sputters and makes a face of disgust when it touches his tongue.

For two days, Dean burns with fever. On the third day, the fever breaks and Dean falls into a deep, dreamless slumber. Castiel sleeps too, exhausted down to his very bones.

* * *

Dean wakes slowly, his brain sluggish and foggy. The first thing he sees is the man who rescued him. He’s sitting up against the far wall of the room, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Dean stares at him for a while. He doesn’t look very old, maybe twenty five or thirty. What is he doing, living out here in the woods all alone? Perhaps he’s on a spiritual journey? That would make sense, especially if he’s a healer or a seer.

As if sensing Dean’s gaze, the man awakens with a jerk, and Dean’s stomach suddenly feels as though it’s full of flopping fish. He’s never seen eyes so blue, so deep, so piercing. There’s an otherworldly quality to them that sends a shiver down Dean’s back, but he swallows his fear and reminds himself that an evil being wouldn’t spend so much time nursing him back to health if it was planning to kill him. This man likely means no harm.

Dean clears his throat. “Thank you for saving my life,” he says. “I am in your debt.”

To his surprise, the man shakes his head. “It is I who am indebted to you,” he replies, and that familiar deep voice makes Dean shudder again, though for slightly different reasons this time.

“What debt could you possibly owe me?” he asks. “We’ve never met before.”

His rescuer smiles slightly. “Actually, we have,” he says. “But I wouldn’t expect you to remember. You were only a boy then.”

Dean frowns. Surely he would recall meeting such a striking man, no matter how long ago it was. “What’s your name?” he asks, hoping that will jog his memory.

“Castiel.”

That doesn’t help in the slightest. Dean shakes his head. “I am sorry,” he says. “It seems you are right. I can’t remember.”

Castiel cocks his head. “Well,” he says, that faint smile still on his lips, “I did look rather different at the time.”

With that cryptic remark, he rises to his feet. Even though he has to crouch in order not to hit his head on the ceiling, Dean can tell that Castiel is nearly as tall as he is. The thought is oddly pleasing.

Castiel moves to the fire, which has almost burnt out, and rakes a stick over the glowing coals. “How is your pain?” he asks.

Dean shifts underneath the pile of furs, taking stock of his body. “Better,” he reports. “Still sore, but I no longer feel as if I’m dying.”

“That is good,” Castiel says.

“It is,” Dean says, frowning. “It’s also impossible that I should recover so quickly. That beast tossed me on its antlers, threw me against a tree and stomped on me. I should be dead.” He eyes Castiel, but the man is focused intently on the fire. “Why aren’t I dead?”

A long pause.

“I used my magic to heal the worst of your wounds,” Castiel says, still not looking at him.

Dean finds that he’s not surprised by this information. “So you _are_ a spirit,” he says. “I wondered.”

“Not a spirit,” Castiel replies. “I am mortal, like you.”

“But you are not a man.”

“No.”

Dean huffs, impatient with Castiel’s short answers. “What are you, then?” he demands.

“A messenger,” Castiel says. “Or, I was.”

Dean stares at the figure crouched in front of the fire, mind spinning. He puts together what he knows. Castiel is mortal, but not human. He says they met when Dean was a boy, but that he looked different at the time. And that he’s indebted to Dean for something.

The final piece falls into place as he watches Castiel tend the fire. His movements are quick, almost jerky, making his black, raggedy cloak flutter and sway, almost like… 

_Feathers._

“Birdie,” Dean whispers. “Is that you?”

Castiel’s head snaps up. His eyes suddenly look overbright. “Yes, Dean,” he murmurs. He moves swiftly across the room until he’s kneeling at Dean’s side. “It’s me.”

Without conscious thought, Dean lifts his hand and presses it against Castiel’s cheek, rough with stubble. Castiel’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch, humming softly. Dean’s throat feels tight. Memories are flooding his senses— soft silky feathers, gentle nibbles on his ear, squawks and trills and chirps.

“You left me,” he says, voice wavering. “You were my best friend. We went everywhere together. And then one day, you were just…gone.”

Castiel’s face crumples up with sadness. “I am sorry,” he says. “I had no choice. Odin called for me, and I had to return to his service.”

“You could have come back,” Dean accuses. “Why didn’t you? I called for you, every night. You never answered.” A sharp pain goes through his chest, remembering the tearful pleas he used to make late at night. _Please come back, Birdie. I miss you. Why’d you go?_

“Odin was displeased that I became attached to a human,” Castiel says, sounding ashamed. “I was forbidden from returning to Earth.”

“Oh.” Dean’s anger fades a little. “But you’re back now.”

Castiel nods. “I was allowed to return, provided that I stay away from humans.” He swallows. “And I tried. Truly, I did. But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see what had become of the boy who saved me.”

Silence falls, broken only by the crackling fire.

“And did you?” Dean asks at last. “See me?”

“I did.” Castiel looks away, into the flames. “You were still young, probably eleven or twelve years old. And you were still just as brave and kind as you were at the age of eight. Your soul shone so brightly that all others looked dull in comparison.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. He feels a blush staining his cheeks and hopes it’s not noticeable in the dim light.

“I kept watch over you,” Castiel continues. “I kept you safe whenever I could. But eventually Odin caught me, and I was punished.”

A jumble of emotion flashes through Dean—pity, regret, sorrow. “What was the punishment?” he asks, afraid to hear the answer.

“I was banished from Valhalla,” Castiel answers, his voice pained. “Most of my magic was taken away. It’s why I live in this part of the forest. This is an ancient stronghold of the gods, and I can draw upon the power that still resides here.”

“Cas.” The nickname falls from Dean’s lips without his permission, but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind. He tears his gaze away from the fire and looks into Dean’s eyes.

“I do not regret my choice,” he says. “But I do regret causing you pain.” He bows his head. “Please forgive me.”

Dean’s already forgiven him, but he pretends to consider for a few moments. “Very well,” he says at last. “On one condition.”

Castiel raises his head, looking hopeful. “Anything.”

Dean reaches up and takes Castiel’s face in both hands. “Don’t leave me again,” he says. “I can live with you or you can live with me, but promise me that we’ll stay together, no matter what.”

Castiel leans forward, eyes shining like two stars. “I promise,” he murmurs. “I will stay by your side. Always.”

“Good,” Dean says, and presses a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. It feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Love Destiel? 18 or over? Join the [Profound Bond Discord Server!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)


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